


Burned Like a Bonfire in the Morning

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: you brought the sunlight in [2]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Morning Sex, Touching, well actually afternoon sex but they don't realize that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after "Take Off Your Boots and Stay a While". Well, Vince did say, "wait until you see what happens in the morning." This is it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned Like a Bonfire in the Morning

Why they work so well together, neither of them can tell. They’re so different, they like entirely different things, and yet neither of them can bear to imagine what life would be like without the other one around. Opposites attract, isn’t that what everyone says? It must be the truth, because if you stand them next to each other they don’t look anything like a matched pair. 

On the one side you’ve got Vince, long raven hair immaculately coiffed and dressed in vivid colors and fashionable cuts, brilliantly accessorized with trinkets both bright and shiny, blue eyes wide as he peacocks and pulls shapes. On the other side there’s Howard, in all the colors the rainbow forgot, brown curls a bit awry from running his hands through them, dressed in shades of carbohydrate-- mawkish toast colored cords, his favorite cardigan in studious bran muffin-- but you can see how they fit together in the way Howard’s melted-chocolate eyes linger on Vince, the way one corner of his moustache quirks up as he watches the shapes progress from lightning bolt to dodecahedron to seven-pointed-star, the way Vince grins when he notices Howard looking.

So they don’t look like they go together, until you see them interacting, and then it’s obvious that they do, because the only people who bicker like that are the ones that are meant for each other for the long haul, the only people who take care of each other like that are the ones who plan on doing it forever, the only people who crimp like that are-- well, they are the only people who crimp like that, aren’t they? At any rate, even folks who don’t know them think they’re married, and the ones who do know them are sure that they’re married, and it used to be annoying when people joked about it, but now…

Now, Howard drifts into consciousness with his nose buried in dark hair that smells faintly of cigarette smoke and coconut, and in that sleepy moment before reality asserts itself he holds Vince closer and thinks _I could wake up like this every day._ It’s comfortable, pressed together all along their bodies, Howard draped half over Vince’s back like some Northern throw blanket, Vince’s perpetually cold feet warm where he’s wedged them between Howard’s shins. The fact that they’re both naked settles in a moment later, but it doesn’t bring the expected sense of alarm with it. Actually, it’s really nice, Vince’s skin is soft everywhere, and he stirs slightly when Howard traces a finger over the burn scar on his hip, mumbles something incomprehensible about lobsters as he burrows deeper into the pillow. Howard laughs silently and nuzzles the back of Vince’s neck, wondering vaguely what time it is and whether he can get away with falling back asleep, it is the weekend, isn’t it? the shop is closed, isn’t it? Well, the shop IS closed, since they’re both right here in this bed, and closed it will stay, because Vince made some vague insinuations about the morning that Howard is quite eager to have clarified, so he hopes it’s the weekend so they won’t catch hell from Naboo for staying right here in this bed for rather a while longer.

God, he’s wanted to have Vince in his arms for so long. And last night, despite getting each other off, they’d barely taken off any clothes before they were headed for a sleepy. There’s not much of that skinny body he hasn’t caught at least one furtive glimpse of, but the chance to look at leisure-- the chance to _touch_ at leisure-- all those places he’s seen and wanted to kiss, the entire catalog from ankle to zygomatic arch, every bit of that beloved body, and now he can, now it’s okay for him not just to think about it but to act on it. And Vince will want to touch him back, and finally, finally he can stop saying “don’t touch me” because he can’t bear the way it feels to be touched so casually without any meaning behind it, but this, this isn’t meaningless, this means everything, all the words that have been stopped up inside him for so many years, the ones he didn’t even dare to commit to paper lest they be discovered, finally he can abandon those three defensive words and find new ones, better ones, pages and notebooks and anthologies of better ones he’s been hoarding inside his head against this eventuality.

Well, he’s certainly not getting back to sleep now, he realizes, shifting a little so he’s not poking quite so firmly against Vince’s perfect arse. Vince yawns and stretches and settles himself back against Howard so the poking resumes immediately, and casts a sleepy smile over his shoulder. “Mornin’,” he says, “steady on there,” and the little tart wiggles his bottom until Howard’s arousal is pressed right against his cleft, like a statement of intent. 

“Good morning,” Howard says, aiming for sultry and landing somewhere around shaky. Oh well. “Sleep all right?” 

“Like a dream,” Vince says. “Dreamed ‘bout the zoo, actually. Feedin’ the owls. All the little mice disappearin’ down those fierce beaks.” He pulls Howard’s hand up from his hip, nips at his thumb like an owl bite, then sucks on his thumb in a manner Howard hopes he doesn’t suck his own thumb or suddenly what seemed like an innocent quirk turns a bit filthy. It’s certainly distracting, what he’s doing with his tongue. He scrapes his teeth along the pad of Howard’s thumb when he releases it, and Howard shivers a little behind him. “You’re well comfy to sleep with, y’know? Gigantic Northern teddy bear.”

“Well, you’ve been stealing my heat all night, no wonder you’re cozy,” Howard says, and Vince giggles and drags one unusually warm foot up and down Howard’s hairy shin. “They call me the Radiator. Plenty of heat to spare.” As casually as he can manage, he drags a hand down Vince’s chest, over his stomach, until his little finger brushes against curls that are surprisingly soft-- does Vince condition his pubic hair? That’s… actually not surprising at all, is it, really?-- and he teases his fingertips through that silky thatch, smiling when Vince whines and cants his hips, trying to get Howard to move his hand that last little bit downward. Howard can feel the heat of Vince’s morning wood without even touching it, but he can’t resist, gives up on the teasing after a few seconds to wrap his hand around Vince and stroke slowly. He kisses Vince’s shoulder and enjoys the way Vince practically melts back against him.

“If I’da known how nice it is to be touched by you, I wouldn’t’ve let you wait so long,” Vince says, reaching back to run his fingers through Howard’s hair, getting a happy sigh out of him. “Can we just stay here all day?”

“You read my mind,” Howard says, and-- okay, even though it feels amazing to have Vince’s pert little butt pressed up against him, Howard really, really wants to look at him, wants to kiss him, wants to-- well, he wants a lot of things, but first things first. He eases back from Vince and tugs the duvet down a bit, nudges Vince onto his back and takes in the view. Vince, ever aware and appreciative of an audience, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at Howard with a smile playing across his lips. He’s so pale except for the places he’s pink, rosy nipples and the powder pink of scars from beautification-related mishaps, so pretty, even with his hair a sleep-tousled mess and a crease on his cheek from the pillow. Howard touches him fleetingly, in seemingly random places-- the underside of his upper arm, the dip of his collarbone, his solar plexus, his sides just below his ribs-- before he leans down to kiss him, softly, making a small startled sound when Vince seizes him by the hair and turns the kiss into something wet and hungry and fierce all at once. 

“Couldn’t help meself,” Vince says when their mouths finally part, stroking Howard’s hair almost apologetically. “You’re a right tease, aren’t you? Flittin’ around like butterflies.” 

“I’m like a kid in a candy store. Can’t decide what I want, too many choices.” That’s a thought, though… he lowers his mouth to one of those candy-pink nipples, licks at it curiously, delighted when it pebbles under the touch. The other one’s already peaked when he kisses it, and Vince gasps when he scrapes his teeth over it experimentally. 

“You can… if you wanna… you can bite,” Vince says breathlessly, “I like that, quite a bit really.” Howard does bite, but only his own lower lip, looking up at Vince wide-eyed for a moment. “Go on, then.” It’s clear that he does like it quite a bit from the way he yelps at the gentle nip Howard tries, and after that it’s a free-for-all, a meandering path of kisses and nibbles and moustache-tickles all around Vince’s torso working gradually lower until he reaches where the duvet is slung low around Vince’s hips. He traces that boundary line with a finger, but before Vince can say anything, Howard casts the blanket over the edge of the bed, frames Vince’s hips with his broad hands, and takes an avid look at Vince’s cock standing proud from its bed of light brown curls.

“I’d almost forgotten your real hair color,” Howard teases, ruffling the hair with one thumb, and Vince whines low in his throat and arches his hips. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

“Yeah I am,” Vince agrees, “Come on, won’t you just touch me?”

“No. No, I don’t think I will _just_ touch you,” Howard says even as he closes a hand around Vince, “Isn’t that limiting? There’s so much else to do besides just touching.” Like watching, watching Vince toss his head back against the pillow as he writhes under the slow strokes, watching a bead of moisture welling at the tip of Vince’s cock, and tasting, because how could he see that and not want to taste? And listening to Vince’s broken-off curse at the touch of Howard’s tongue, listening to his pleading when Howard decides that he quite likes how Vince tastes, salty-sweet and essential, listening to him yelp “watch the teeth!” when Howard takes him into his mouth, not very far, but curious, so very curious about how far he could go. Touching, yes, stroking the insides of Vince’s thighs, caressing his balls, exploring this whole sensitive zone with fingertips and a sense of adventure, staking a claim on him with a bite on one pale thigh, sucking enough to leave a mark and doesn’t that just make Vince wail, a sound Howard didn’t know he needed in his life until it was there hanging in the air. _Kinky little minx_ , he thinks, and resolves to figure out more ways to get Vince to make that sound. 

“Howard, please,” Vince breathes, reaching down for him, brushing his fine hair back from his face. “Can you-- d’you wanna--” 

“Anything you want, Little Man. Tell me?” Vince lights up at the promise, sprawling his thighs wider and arching his back a little. Howard swallows, realizing all of a sudden that he’s barely been touched and he’s more turned on than he’s ever been in his life. It didn’t seem important when he was focusing on Vince, but now he’s aware of it and he can’t be a disappointment now, not now.

“I want you to bum me silly,” Vince says, and they both bite their lips-- Vince to suppress a laugh, and Howard because sweet Christy, hearing those words out of him almost makes him lose it right there. Howard slides his hand up Vince’s thigh, slowly and deliberately, until his fingers are just brushing where leg and torso meet.

“I’d like that,” Howard says, and he’s surprised by how his voice has gone all low and throaty, halfway to a purr practically. “Have you got--?”

“Bedside drawer,” Vince says immediately, and bites back a whine when Howard crosses the room to rummage through the drawer. 

“Cherry cola flavored? Is this a joke?” Howard says, waving the tube of lube before tossing it back in the drawer and returning to the bed with a condom.

“Oi, we’re gonna need that,” Vince says a little desperately, but Howard just shakes his head and goes into his own bedside drawer for a moment, coming out with a small bottle and a smaller smile. Vince nicks it and arches his eyebrows. “A bit posh?” It’s an expensive brand, unscented and extra slick, and Howard shrugs.

“I have sensitive skin. Probably break out in hives from your flavored stuff.”

“Sensitive skin?” Vince’s hand closes around Howard’s wrist, so often chafed from a Chinese burn, but all he says is, “an’ here I thought you’re one of those rugged Northern types.”

“Some skin’s more sensitive,” Howard says, and shuts Vince up by the expedient method of tracing a slickened finger down his crack and rubbing gently at the furled muscle of his entrance. Whatever retort Vince was about to make is lost in a gasp, and he scrapes together his single brain cell for one last observation as Howard’s fingertip presses in.

“You’ve done this before,” he says, and Howard looks up from what he’s doing to meet Vince’s wide eyes with a slightly guarded look on his face.

“You’re the first other person I’ve touched like this,” Howard says, completely truthfully, and Vince has to reach down and give his own cock a rough squeeze. “Are you… are you close?” Howard asks, and Vince nods shakily.

“Don’t wanna come til you’re in me,” he says, and Howard almost puts his teeth right through his own lip trying to diffuse how utterly sexy that statement is. He presses his finger deeper, and Vince shivers and pleads, “Go faster, I need you.”

“Don’t rush me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You couldn’t. Please, Howard.” It’s the ‘please’ that gets to him, is Vince actually begging him for something? Is Vince actually begging him for Howard himself? Howard pushes a second finger in alongside the first, twisting and spreading them, and Vince rolls his hips eagerly, pouts exaggeratedly until Howard gives him a third finger, faster than Howard thinks is wise, but Vince just moans and tears the condom open, rolling it onto Howard and pulling him in by his hips. “C’mon, fuck me already!”

“Vince…” They’re both trembling a little, too close to the edge. Howard covers Vince’s body with his own and finds his lips with a tender kiss, swallowing the tiny shattered sound Vince makes as he lets Howard in. It’s-- it’s strange, strange and excellent, the tight clasp of Vince’s body around him a completely unique sensation, and he simultaneously thinks _I wish this could last forever_ and _this is not going to last long at all_ before Vince wraps a leg around his waist and pulls him in until there’s no further to go, until there’s no space left between them at all, two hearts beating in frantic tandem, bodies thoroughly entwined. It feels amazing; it feels like coming home, like everything good in the world has been distilled down to this, Vince’s breathy wordless cries a perfect musical counterpoint to the shivery way Howard keeps repeating his name, “Vince, Vince,” like he only needs the single word to express everything he’s feeling. He really does only need the one word. All the times Howard has said Vince’s name, in fear or anger or amusement or exasperation, he’s never said it like this, so weighted down with adoration that it’s a one-word poem. 

It doesn’t last long. It couldn’t, as tightly wound as they both are. Howard takes Vince’s cock in hand and that’s it, he loses it with a single stroke, one solitary thrust of Howard’s hips, dragging Howard over the edge an instant later with a tug of his hair and a howl of his name. They cling to each other in the shuddery aftershocks of sensation, nuzzling and kissing and catching their breath a little at a time, until the mess becomes too much for Howard to bear and he pulls out carefully, reaching for tissues to clean them both up a bit. Vince lies back and lets him do the work, but as soon as they’re reasonably tidied up he hauls Howard right back into bed and curls himself around the bigger man to whisper in his ear.

“ _Genius_.” Howard laughs a little, and Vince beams. “Next time, though, you better be ready for me to touch you that much.”

“You can touch me,” Howard says slowly, “if you want to.” Vince makes a quiet startled sound, and Howard takes his hand and presses it to his chest, looking down at the chipped polish on Vince’s nails as Vince’s fingertips stroke his skin. They both look down at that point of contact, quietly marveling at this simple touch, the weight of permission finally given. Vince rests his palm over Howard’s heart, feeling the steady beat of it, safe in the knowledge that this endlessly loyal heart has sworn its fealty to him time and time again. The moment is somewhat shaken by a loud grumble from Vince’s stomach. Howard huffs a laugh and turns to kiss Vince’s cheek. “Time for breakfast?”

Vince chances a glance over his shoulder at the clock they’ve both been ignoring. “Time for tea,” he says, “but breakfast sounds better. French toast?”

“How about I just pour you a bowl of syrup? Same end result.” Vince smacks his shoulder, eyes dancing, and they’re off on a breakfast foods crimp as easy as breathing. Bowl of syrup, though, that’s promising. Vince could do quite a lot with a bowl of syrup and a willing body to drizzle it on. And then drag him off to the shower to clean up…

It is, in fact, not the weekend. It is, in fact, Thursday. At some point, they’re going to be chewed out for leaving the shop closed all day, but that’s the last thing on either of their minds as they shrug into their dressing gowns and head to the kitchen, crimping about coffee and donuts and Belgian waffles.


End file.
